


The Blight

by YamBits



Category: The Lord of the Rings (Movies), The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: AU, Body Horror, Frodo stays in the Shire au, Horror, M/M, Post-Quest, Sam and Frodo are married au, Spooky, in Buckland mushroom eats YOU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-27
Updated: 2020-10-30
Packaged: 2021-03-09 02:21:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,280
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27217114
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/YamBits/pseuds/YamBits
Summary: Sam goes to investigate a mysterious plant blight in Buckland and finds a desolate manor among a dark rotten forest that hides a terror.
Relationships: Frodo Baggins/Sam Gamgee
Comments: 18
Kudos: 53





	1. Willowgold

**Author's Note:**

> So this is a little spookier than my usual (I think? Idk.) and that’s what the M rating is for. That and Frodo says fuck.
> 
> Update schedule:  
> Chapter 1: Willowgold - Tues Oct 27, 2020  
> Chapter 2: Blight - Wed Oct 28  
> Chapter 3: Disappeared - Thurs Oct 29  
> Chapter 4:The Forest - Fri Oct 30  
> Chapter 5: It Comes - Sat Oct 31

It had begun in the spring with a letter from Merry Brandybuck. Sam had been a little surprised to see a letter from Merry addressed to him and only him and he’d opened it at once while he and Frodo had their breakfast in Bag End’s sunlit kitchen.

“Well,” Sam frowned as he read.

“Hm?” Frodo asked distractedly as he skimmed his own letters.

“Mr. Merry has writ. He asks if I’ll come to Buckland for a bit of forestry work,” Sam said slowly, still frowning.

“But you were just there,” Frodo glanced up.

“Seems there’s some trouble in the south of Buckland. Some land owner or other with a complaint.”

“Who is it? I might know them.”

“He says the Master of the House’s name is C. Glenburrow of Willowgold House.”

Frodo nodded.

“I don’t know him, but I know the House. It’s just south of Standelf. Good rich soil there, if a little boggy. Very like the Marish. Does Merry say what’s wrong?”

“No, just apologies and offers to go with me,” Sam blinked. “Says Mr. Glenburrow is a bit of a pain.” Sam laughed, “Well. No need for that. I know Mr. Merry has got more than he can handle as is.”

“Sweet Merry,” Frodo said fondly. “I’d offer to go, but I’m not sure I’m up to it.” He’d taken a slight fever the previous week and was only now getting back on his feet. Poor Frodo was more prone to spells of sickness and catching chills ever since they’d come back. Sam looked up and reached across the table to take his hand.

“Don’t you worry. And I shan’t leave until you feel well.”

“I’m perfectly well enough if I don’t exert myself,” Frodo said, sipping his tea and clasping Sam’s hand for a brief squeeze. “Go on if you like. I’ll be alright and you know your sisters and father will look after me.”

“I will then. The longer I put it off the worse the hobbit’s crop will be.”

And so not long after, Sam found himself catching a ride to Buckland and then walking through the desolate hills of southern Buckland until he spotted the House that he’d been making for.

It was a stone House that rose above the surrounding farmland and woodland. It looked old and stood out stark against the landscape like so many of the Buckland houses did, but with the other houses Sam could sense some warmth and lived in quality to the places- hidden goodness behind a stern front, just like so many of the Buckland farmers he’d met. But this House only had the cold sternness.

Behind it stood a vast and imposing dark forest that Sam mistook at first for the Old Forest, until he remembered that he’d be able to see the Hedge in front if it was. This was a wholly Buckland forest then. But even so, Sam shivered as he stared into it. It was dark and had the same air of menace that the Old Forest did.

 _Silly,_ he told himself. It was easy enough to dismiss his feelings of doubt in the spring sunshine.

Sam walked to the House and, finding no one about, knocked at the large imposing door. For a long while no one answered but finally the door opened and an old man peered out at him.

“Yes?” he asked stiffly, as if he expected Sam to be a saleshobbit.

“Sam Gamgee, at your service,” Sam said, mindful to be polite. As he’d readied himself to leave Bag End, Frodo had wrapped him in a raincoat and done his buttons up, telling him all the right things to say to the grumpy Buckland land owners. “I am here on behalf of Mr. Meriadoc Brandybuck,” Sam said, “answering the request sent about trouble with the crops?” The old hobbit blinked at him, giving him another look and opened the door wider. He invited Sam in and led him down the dark hallway. He hadn’t introduced himself, but Sam gathered this was a butler and he was being taken to Mr. Glenburrow.

The House was dark and silent and Sam felt the same sense of foreboding he’d felt from gazing into the forest. Shafts of soft spring sunlight did come in through small round windows, at least it did through those that were allowed to be uncovered, and whenever Sam caught sight of one, it lifted his spirits significantly.

He was brought into a large darkened room with a high ceiling that felt like the Halls of Men. The stone floor and vast fireplace only added to the sense of oversized Mannish things. But this room wasn’t innocently designed for the comfort of Big Folk, but must have been made to make hobbits feel small and lost in the grandeur.

The hobbit seated at the fireplace looked up as they approached, a hard frown settling into his face. He has soft frizzy tufts of white hair, tied back behind his neck, and there were small old fashioned spectacles perched on his nose. His eyes were intelligent but there was no kindness in them.

“Gamgee,” the butler said as an introduction. “Here for the Brandybucks about the Trouble.”

The old hobbit didn’t answer, only looked from his butler to Sam and back. The butler turned away without another word and left, closing the door behind him.

“Good day, Mr. Glenburrow, sir,” Sam said genially. The hobbit peered at him and didn’t answer. Sam tried again. “Very sorry to hear about your trouble. If you can tell me a bit about it and if I can see the crops in question?”

“Gamgee isn’t a Bucklander’s name,” the old hobbit said. “Where were you sired, boy?”

“Hobbiton, sir,” Sam said.

“Saradoc sent me a damn _Shire_ hobbit?” Glenburrow said with disgust. Sam stiffened only a little. If this had happened only a few years ago he’d have flushed red and been upset but would have held his tongue. Now he scowled back.

“Say the word and I’ll go if you like, but you’ll not find anyone who can see to plants like I can and that goes for Buckland and the Shire too,” Sam said firmly, “I’ve come here as a special favor and it’s no matter to me if you don’t want my help.”

The hobbit peered at Sam again, closer this time.

“Very sure of yourself, aren’t you, Gamgee,” he said. “A special favor is it? And just who do you work for?”

Sam took a breath.

“I work for the Shire.”

The old hobbit considered this, looking very unsatisfied with this answer.

“Doing what?”

“Clearing up the mess made by Sharkey and his Men. Bringing back the green things and rebuilding what must be rebuilt.”

“But your training is what?” Glenburrow snapped impatiently. “What are you?”

“I’m a gardener,” Sam said automatically. The old hobbit’s eyes glinted.

“If you are a gardener, then you must work for someone. Who?” he asked. Sam stared at him, bewildered and a little angry at the questioning.

“I used to work for Frodo Baggins,” he said quietly. Glenburrow glanced at him, his frown deepening in disapproval, though Sam wasn’t sure if it was disapproval of Frodo or disapproval that Sam hadn’t included an honorific.

“He fired you did he?”

“He did not.”

“Frodo Baggins,” Glenburrow said slowly. “I see the Brandybuck connection now.”’

Sam stayed silent. The hobbit rose and motioned for Sam to follow.

“I’ll show you the Trouble,” he said and didn’t say anymore as he led Sam out of the House through the back door. They walked down the back of the hill and Sam had time in the silence to calm himself and get a look at the grounds. Though the House was dark with faded grandeur and so very silent, the grounds were well kept and alive. There were sounds of pigs in their little houses, and the steady drone of bees in three hives set out near a tidy fenced garden. Sam gazed at it, and grimness left his heart. A well loved garden had that effect on him.

They moved down further into the croplands and now Sam began to detect something amiss. There was a smell in the air, a sickly sweetness, like something just beginning to rot. He would have thought it was some patch of early blighted fruit, but the smell grew stronger as they entered the hedged field and Sam stared out across the land in alarm.

It was a field of young lettuce, but they were shrunken and withered, and too pale. They didn’t appear to be rotten and Sam still could not detect the source of the smell but that it seemed to be all around them.

“It’s a blight,” Glenburrow said. “This is only one of the affected fields- the beans are the same, and the radishes, and it isn’t only the fields. The forest is infected as well.”

Sam stared at the nearest withered head of lettuce. It was very young, but even so, it was crinkled and dusted with spots of mold and horrible to look at. Sam had seen many blights and knew each variety as well as he knew the varieties of plants. He had not seen anything like this.

“How long?” he asked.

“Last harvest, began to notice it in the field closest to the forest,” Glenburrow said, “we hoped it would die out with the winter, and it seemed to. But now it has returned. And it’s spreading.”

Sam stared at the next row. The small layered leaves should have been a soft new green. They were pale and dusted with a strange dark purple powder. It looked a bit like spores, but like no fungal spores Sam had ever seen. Still, the idea of spores stuck with him.

“I’m afraid it must all be burned,” Sam said. Though he did not know what he was looking at, the solution must be the same as it was for all blights like this.

“Simpleton,” Glenburrow spat at him. “We have done that. It does no good.”

“No,” Sam said slowly, “You must burn _all_ of it. The forest as well.”

The hobbit froze and turned back to him, his eyes wide.

“No,” he whispered.

“Mr. Glenburrow, burning the fields that become infected will do no good while you’ve got a forest full of vegetation where the blight can grow and spread. And you’d be wise to do it right away, else it will be moving on to your neighbor’s fields next.”

“This is the help that the Brandybucks send me? This is the great help you boasted on in my very House?” Glenburrow said, his voice raising. “When I wrote to the Brandybucks I was promised a miracle. Saradoc himself said that the hobbit he was sending could work miracles.”

“Well I never,” Sam said under his breath, as a moment of anger flared in him. So this hobbit had word of him and still put him through questioning.

“My crops feed half of Standelf,” Glenburrow said, still angry, “and it isn’t like everyone else is having a wonderful year. The hard times and the ruined fields mean we’re all producing less.” Sam knew that well enough.

“Mr. Glenburrow,” Sam said quietly, “you must burn it all if you want the land to recover. If you will promise to do that, I’ve a bit of soil that might help your land come back. It’s worked in other devastated places in Buckland and the Shire, and I’d like to use a bit here. But only if you burn this blight. It’s no use otherwise.”

The old hobbit stared at him wordlessly for a long while.

“Very well,” he said at last. “You’ll need to speak to my gamekeeper. Make arrangements with him.” Sam blinked and nodded.

Glenburrow directed Sam down to a little cabin at the creek bottom, near the forest edge. Sam gazed down the hill and spotted the little building. It looked lonely.

After Genburrow bid him goodbye, Sam set off, hiking down to the little cabin, keeping his eyes on the forest the whole way.

There was a heaviness in the air and the smell was turning his stomach. There were echoes of dreaded places suddenly pressing down on him though he stood among the hills that looked like home. Even though the sun shone warm and the cheeriness of spring breezes should have lifted his spirits, Sam shivered at the darkness he sensed coming from the trees.


	2. Blight

Sam took a seat in the little cottage as the gamekeeper Hinn Browntree handed him a cup of tea. Sam had liked him almost instantly. He was quiet and gentle and it was evident he was skilled at his work. Something about his manner reminded Sam of his own father, especially when he talked with bright eyes about caring for the plants and animals in his charge. Though his title was gamekeeper, the glory days of hunts and parties at Willowgold were far behind, and Browntree was more of a farmer- looking after the few livestock, keeping up the kitchen garden, and managing the work on the croplands. Conversation inevitably moved to the blight. 

“Look here,” Sam said softly, “you and I both know it’s no good unless the forest is burned too.”

“Yes sir, I know it,” Browntree said, “but you see, that forest is Willowgold Wood, or, it used to be.”

“Used to be?”

“In the old days, it was a proper wood, beautiful and quiet much like Woody End. They say the Fair Folk would walk through Willowgold Wood. But then, something changed in it and it grew thicker and darker. Some of the Standelf folks say that something of the Old Forest got in. The trees do have that Way about them. Like they’re watching you. But that’s not even the worst of it,” the gamekeeper fell silent. “It started last year, before the blight came. The forest got darker and malicious-like. I had a dog go missing. Used to be I’d go in there all hours, for there was good hunting and even though the trees were strange, they knew me after a fashion and I knew them. But after the change, I daren’t go near the place after the sun sets. The blight was only a show of that new badness.” He paused and then went on, “I told Mr. Glenburrow that there was something wrong about the forest and when I found it thick with rot I told him it must be cleared out, burned. But he wouldn’t let me.”

“That’s mad,” Sam said quietly. Browntree nodded slowly, wincing.

“Just between you and me, sir, I think he was worried what we’ll find. If the rot has got into the trees then he’ll not be able to bear it. That forest is the pride of his family and he doesn’t want to hear that the trees have heart-rot. And besides pride, there is the matter that he is wanting to sell the House and forest land and if his buyers think that forest is full of valuable hardwoods he’ll get a very tidy sum for it. But if it’s discovered the whole of the trees can’t be used for ought…”

“It don’t stop the fact of it.”

“No sir, it sure don’t.”

Sam gazed out the window. The rotten forest was close to the little cabin, and Sam was very glad he didn’t have to try and sleep so close to the foul presence, drenched in the smell of that sweet decay. For a moment he was lost, staring into the darkness and he had a vision of a candle flickering in the shadow. A thrill of panic lit through him and he shivered, wrenching his gaze away. 

_It’s only a memory,_ he told himself, _you’re seeing visions of the Dead Marshes._ But the panic and dread would not leave him. 

“Anyway, you're right, sir,” Browntree said, “and I’m sure glad you come and showed him reason. It must be burned; felled. All of it, whether it’s good wood or not. I know poor Mr. Glenburrow won’t like it. But even he must see no good will come of it now.”

“Yes, I was glad to hear him agree,” Sam said, recovering. He reached into his pouch. “Have you a bottle or some such?”

“Yes sir.”

Sam measured out the smallest quarter spoon of the soil and very carefully transferred it to Browntree’s bottle. Sam usually would never have given the soil to another hobbit, not trusting them to use it correctly or wisely, but Hinn Browntree was a fellow gardener. Sam could feel that gardener’s soul and see it in his work and in his face and eyes and hands. 

“When all is burned,” Sam said, “choose a good day, and sprinkle this soil about. You need only a few grains in each place. It’s powerful stuff. If you’ve burned the blight out then that will let the soil do it’s work and the crops will prosper and the wood too may grow again into splendor,” Sam paused and added wistfully, “and maybe you’ll even see the Fair Folk walk that path again amongst the trees.”

“Oh, but they do that now.”

“What? In that?”

“Well maybe they do,” Hinn revised, ”I can’t say really, never having seen one of them for sure. But on some nights I do see someone out there. There’s a figure sometimes. _Standing under the trees_.”

Sam sat very still. He suddenly desperately wanted to leave. 

✧◈✧

Sam walked back along the path to Standelf as the sun sank. A creeping feeling of horror was slowly stealing over him and he wanted to be as far away from Willowgold as he could get before darkness fell. He felt unclean and wanted to wash himself. Just the idea of bringing one of those blight spores back to Frodo made his heart thump with dread and horror. 

_And what for? It’s a plant blight like any other. It won’t hurt a hobbit. I’ve seen blights before._

But he had not seen one like this and the image of the dark rotten forest loomed in his mind. He’d left the soil because he wanted to get away. The right thing would have been to stay and make sure they burned it all and then put down his soil. But the place bore down on him, hurt him. 

That night at the inn, Sam scrubbed himself hard. He started at his head and worked down, using a bristle brush to work the soap onto his hair and skin. By the time he was done his skin burned from the rough scrubbing, but he was soothed. The panic faded. 

✧◈✧

On the evening on his return to Bag End, Sam lay in the parlor, his head in Frodo’s lap. Frodo was stroking his curls with one hand while the other lay warm and heavy on his chest. Slowly, the comfort of Frodo’s familiar touch and smell and the sound of his voice was melting away the sense of dread that had hung on Sam since he’d left Willowgold. 

Now, at home and held in Frodo’s arms, he was safe from that place. 

✧◈✧

Sam walked up a strangely familiar ridge covered in a thick layer of powder. He’d thought the ground was covered in snow, for it was the same effect as snow- making a familiar place seem suddenly new- but it wasn’t snow. 

It was thick mold, spores rolling and swirling around his feet as he walked. Sam covered his face in horror as he moved up, his eyes scanning the mounds of soft rot. He was afraid he’d step in a hole and go down into a soft choking tunnel, but he was driven on. There was something moving among the mounds, and Sam wanted to get away, get out of this place, and find… 

There was something he was trying to find. Something good and safe and…

Bag End. He was on the Hill and he couldn’t find Bag End. The realization hit him hard but he didn’t have time to absorb it, for Sam caught a glimpse of burning eyes on the barren hill.

He tried to run but he was frozen, watching helplessly as the mold spores rose before him as something large moved toward him. It rose up above and opened its stringy tooth filled maw. Spores poured out and settled over him in thick clouds. Sam gasped for air but his lungs were choked. Panic and horror filled him. He could feel things sprouting inside him.

Sam jerked awake and heard his own voice crying out. He gasped for air, disoriented and unsure why he was sitting up. 

“Darling?” 

Frodo’s voice was sleepy and a moment later Sam felt a touch at his side.

“Oh heavens,” Sam mumbled and slowly sank back down into the bed. “Sorry.”

“Mm,” Frodo breathed and put an arm around him. “Alright?” Sam put his hand over Frodo’s and curled down into his arms. 

“Alright,” he said. 

“Willowgold forest?” Frodo whispered. Sam squeezed his hand. That was the root of it anyway.

“Yes.”

He felt Frodo kiss him, sleep muddled and clumsy, but it warmed his heart all the same. He kissed him back and settled in, trying to blot out the foul dream. 

✧◈✧

Sam tried to let Willowgold fade out of his memory over the next few months. He mostly succeeded, for there was so much work to fill his days, and the rest he spent with Frodo, curled up with him in the library or sitting outside under the stars. Summer came and it got easier. He could almost let Willowgold blend into the memories of the hard days, those terrifying times on the journey and just after. The problem was that the terror of the journey held no threat over him now. But he could always be called back to Willowgold. 

So one day when he was sorting mail and saw Glenburrow’s name on a letter addressed to him, the buried dread bloomed all at once. Sam took the envelope with shaking hands.

_Gamgee,_

_I require your services. You will be pleased to hear that the soil treatment you left with my gamekeeper seems to have done the trick- as far as the lettuces are concerned. Please bring more of your treatment, I would like to have it on all of my crops. I will be expecting you within the week._

_Very truly, C. Glenburrow_

Sam stared at the letter then walked quickly back to his study and sat down, taking out a slip of paper, his ink bottle and pen. He wrote,

_Dear Mr. Glenburrow,_

_I regret that I cannot treat your fields. The soil that I gave to Mr. Browntree is quite rare and there are many other places in great need._

_Sam Gamgee_

He stared at the taciturn letter. Merry and Pippin liked to tease him for his economical use of words in letters to them, but Sam felt this was the right tone for this hobbit. He was one of those who didn’t like to be told no and Sam needed to make everything clear to him right off. Sam let the ink dry, then folded it into an envelope and addressed it. He went out down the road that ran to the new row, and just as he suspected, he found the post hobbit chatting to Mrs. Twofoot. Sam wasted no time in getting the letter back into the post hobbit’s bag.

“Fast Samwise!” the post hobbit teased. Sam smiled and tipped his cap, retreating back up the path. He had a feeling he’d not heard the last of Glenburrow.

✧◈✧

Within a few days he had another letter. This time he didn’t rush to answer. He was afraid he’d do no good. This wanted careful thinking over. He pondered it later with Frodo that night in the library.

“What a bother he is,” Frodo said, frowning at the letter in his hand. “And an ass. You told him clearly that you can’t spare the soil for his use. Selfish!”

“He don’t want to hear it,” Sam sighed.

“And to offer you a bribe!” Frodo spat with venom. Sam closed his eyes, weary.

“You can tell he’s so sure that will sway me.”

“It’s a damn insult,” Frodo said bitterly. 

“He’s not going to be happy until I’m out there again,” Sam said, hating to say the words. Frodo looked up.

“You don’t have to go,” he said.

“No, but,” Sam murmured.

“You hated that place,” Frodo said, his voice softening. “It wasn’t just the usual job. You do not have to ever go back there. Besides, what for? He says his crops are doing well. More than well.”

“The lettuces are,” Sam said softly, “but the rest isn’t thriving.”

“That’s only natural isn’t it? He’ll be behind in the season, since he had to burn the fields.”

“But I’m very much afraid he hasn’t,” Sam said softly. “And it was my fault I didn’t stay and make sure.” Frodo stepped close to him and put a hand to his shoulder.

“You are not responsible for that hobbit’s crops. If he didn’t follow your directions then he’s only himself to blame.”

“If it was only his crops at risk, then I’d agree,” Sam said, softening as Frodo drew him into an embrace.

“Oh?”

“It’s foolish,” Sam murmured, “but I feel like if that blight hasn’t been burned away it can do more mischief than ruin crops. The tales the gamekeeper told me… Well, it put me in mind of dark places and dark things.” He sighed, adding, “Oh. It could all be talk. It’s hard to credit.”

“You liked the gamekeeper though and he seemed a credible hobbit to you, didn’t he?”

Sam nodded.

“I wouldn’t want anything to happen to him. Nor to Mr. Glenburrow, not really.”

“You felt something horrible in that place,” Frodo said, “and I believe wholly in you.”

“I don’t know what I felt,” Sam admitted. Frodo kissed his head.

“If you want to go back, then I’ll go with you if you like.”

“Oh no,” Sam said quietly. “It’s a bad place.”

“I’ve been to a few bad places,” Frodo said wryly. Sam remained silent, too pained at the idea of Frodo so close to darkness. “What about this,” Frodo said, drawing back, “you and I will go to Brandy Hall to see Merry. If you want to, maybe you could go down to Standelf one morning, arrange a meeting with Glenburrow and his gamekeeper in town. They can tell you what they’ve done and you can advise them or tell them to go to hell if they haven’t burned that forest and crop land. You won’t have to go to Willowgold and you can have it out with the hobbit.”

“Oh,” Sam blinked. “Yes. Yes! That just might do it.” The dread lifted off his heart and he caught Frodo in his arms. “Clever Mr. Baggins!” he cried and kissed him. 


	3. Disappeared

They set out in the next few days, catching a ride to Brandy Hall. Merry welcomed them warmly and put them in a very fine room with a large fireplace. After dinner in the Great Hall, he joined them in their room for a smoke, a warm drink, and to have quiet conversation. Sam leaned back in his chair and puffed at his pipe, very content. He had a full stomach of very good food and wine, the air was pleasantly chill so that it felt good to warm his toes at the fire. And too, Frodo and Merry’s voices rang out around him in laughter, giving his heart peace. After a time, he was brought back into the conversation and Merry got more of the details of Sam’s errand.

“I tell you,” Frodo said sternly, “if, when you see Glenburrow tomorrow and he tells you he hasn’t burned all the blight, you just tell him to go fuck himself and come right back here.” Sam turned a gaze on Frodo. He chewed his pipe and raised his eyebrows a little but didn’t reply. Frodo stared back defiant. Sam considered him, then reached out to tickle him but Frodo ducked away laughing and fell into Merry’s lap.

“At any rate,” Merry commented, “you must get back before supper tomorrow. We’re having trout fresh from the Brandywine in butter sauce and red potatoes.” Sam perked up, very interested. “You know,” Merry added, “perhaps I should come with you?”

“It’s just to Standelf,” Sam said, “And I can hold my own with Mr. Glenburrow. Though, I do thank you.” Merry nodded but he looked a little unhappy. “Now come, don’t look like that. You give me a job and I must do it. You know as well as I that if you come with me Mr. Glenburrow won’t pay me any mind.”

“I know,” Merry sighed, “I know you must prove yourself to them. But as you say, I gave you this wretched job and I feel bad about it.”

“Then make it up to him,” Frodo said, sitting up, “take a few days off from your duties and take us on a tour of Buckland.” Frodo turned back and smiled at Sam. “Would you like that, my dear?”

“Very much!” Sam said. “I’ve not seen much of this land, apart from those places that need the most help.”

“Oh then it’s settled. I’ll arrange it. Leave it to me!” Merry said, much more cheerful now. Sam smiled to see it. He loved seeing them both so happy.

✧◈✧

The next morning, Sam was seated at the Golden Root, the inn where he’d arranged to meet Mr. Glenburrow and Mr. Browntree. It was nearly a half hour after their appointment. Sam sipped his tea and watched the door, but neither of them entered. He wondered how much longer he should wait before giving up and going back to Buckland. That thought made his heart feel lighter, despite the bother of having to just do it again some other time. 

“Mr. Gamgee?” the proprietor said as he came back by Sam’s table. 

“Yes, sir?” Sam asked, looking up. The hobbit held out a thin envelope.

“This come for you. A boy run this here from Willowgold.”

“Oh,” Sam said unhappily, before he realized he was being rude and glanced up. But the proprietor only smiled grimly.

“Ah, say no more. It’s an ill place and I’ve had more than one tale of bad things happening out there.”

“Bad things?” Sam asked softly.

“Stories, and folks mistaking things I shouldn’t wonder,” the hobbit said in a low voice, “but it do stink out there. Everyone agrees on that.”

“It still stinks?” Sam sighed and he didn’t bother to hide his dismay. The proprietor nodded. Sam frowned, adding, “can you tell me what folks say of the place?” The proprietor considered, then took a seat beside Sam.

“I’d not say, but I know of you and your work, Mr. Gamgee,” he said in a near whisper. “The folk who live out that way say that the water has gone foul tasting and animals spook when they go within a mile of Willowgold. Everyone avoids it now. The poor family who live closest to the House are at least two miles off, but even so, the oldest son who comes in here from time to time, he tells me they see strange growths in the fields. And the rabbits have all gone.” He shook his head. “It’s a bad business at Willowgold.” Sam looked down at the envelope in his hand. “Ah. But I’ll leave you, sir,” the proprietor said, rising. “Good day.”

“Good day,” Sam said and nodded his thanks. He opened the envelope and slipped out the little scrap. It was Glenburrow’s hand, but it seemed to be just a little shakier than his other letters.

_Gamgee,_

_I cannot keep my appointment with you. Browntree has gone off without a word and left everything in a horrible mess. You must come to Willowgold._

_C. Glenburrow_

Sam stared at the letter. He was on the verge of standing up and making his way back to Brandy Hall. 

_I told him clear I’m not going out to his place!_ Sam thought, angry. He’d made it extremely clear in his letter. _This is some stunt to get me out there even so and have his way!_ Sam fumed. He would have decided to forget the whole thing and let Glenburrow tend to his own mess, but for Mr. Browntree. 

_Gone off without a word._

That just didn’t sound like the hobbit Sam had talked to in the little cabin. 

_But I don’t know what’s happened since the spring,_ Sam thought, _maybe Mr. Browntree was driven past his limits._

And yet…. It bothered Sam. Even if he’d been fed up, to go off without a word was taking a great chance for a hobbit like Browntree. And he couldn’t dismiss the lingering thought that something might have happened to the gamekeeper. That was what stopped Sam in his tracks and kept him from going back to Brandy Hall. 

_Somethings happened to him_ , Sam thought and felt the ache of certainty in his heart. Something bad.

Sam sat a moment more, then rose and went to the counter to pay for his drink and pie. 

“Are you going out there?” the proprietor asked in a hushed whisper. Sam set his mouth.

“I am,” he said. 

✧◈✧

Sam walked along the familiar roads and once more spotted the cold House on the hill. Again he noted the sunshine and listened for the sounds of nature to sooth him. There were sounds of nature- bird calls and insect chirps, but Sam had to stop and listen for them. They were muted and hushed, like they were holding their breath around the house, not daring to call out.

 _No_ , Sam told himself, _don’t be silly._ But it wasn’t so easy to dismiss his foreboding now, even though he stood in the sunshine. The breeze rose from the south blowing toward Sam and he caught the smell of rot in the wind. He stifled a cry of disgust. It was so much worse than it had been in the spring. 

He closed his eyes and breathed through it. He’d been to loathsome stinking pits, and he’d made himself walk deeper into their depths because of need. He had need now and he could do this.

But he didn’t have Frodo.

 _Maybe not here with me,_ Sam told himself gently, _but I carry him with me_. With a sigh, he set off.

✧◈✧

Sam knocked and once again he was met by the butler, except this time when the door was opened it was only opened a crack and eyes peered out at him. 

“Sir,” Sam nodded, “I’m here for Mr. Glenburrow.” The butler considered this, then opened the door. 

“Did he tell you Browntree has run off?” he sniffed as he led Sam down the hall.

“He mentioned it, yes,” Sam said.

“Of all the nerve! Making his exit under cover of darkness! He’s gone to Bree of course.”

“Has he?” Sam asked, a small light of hope flaring in his breast. 

“He has family there. And too, the Buckland home guard can’t drag him back. Miscreant.” Sam frowned and didn’t answer. He was once more brought into the library and there was Glenburrow, as before sitting in front of the fire. 

“Ah Gamgee!” he called, “Thank you Stubbs!” This he called to the butler. Sam approached and tried not to stare. Glenburrow looked like he’d aged several years since the spring. His skin hung down over his cheeks and there were dark circles under his eyes. He motioned Sam closer. “I had to look you up in the post directory to address the letter I sent you a week or so ago,” Glenburrow said with a gleam in his eye. Sam stared at him. “And do you know, your address was listed as Bag End, Hobbiton.” 

“Yes,” Sam said warily.

“Well! I thought you weren't working for Mr. Frodo Baggins anymore. What’s happened? You’ve found the Shire doesn't pay as well as a real employer?” He sounded gleeful.

“Not at all,” Sam said, weariness creeping into his voice. 

“What do you mean not at all?” Glenrow snapped, “You’re his gardener aren’t you?”

“His husband.”

Glenrow blinked owlishly at him, looking as if his fun had been spoiled. 

“Oh I see,” he said. Sam’s disquiet and irritation grew.

“You wrote Mr. Browtree had gone, when was that? And did he leave any word? Something to show you he’d gone off?”

“What do you want with him, Mr. Gamgee?” Glenburrow scowled, “He’s gone.”

 _Ah, it’s Mr. now is it,_ Sam noted. 

“Yes, sir, when?” Sam pressed again. Glenburrow waived vaguely. 

“I don’t remember. A few days.”

“So you never had any intention of meeting me in Standelf!” Sam cried out. The old hobbit blinked at him, bewildered.

“Oh that,” he said. “It’s a very long way and I’m an old man. And the problem is here. What the hell are you going to do about my crops in Standelf?”

“I’ve not come for your crops,” Sam said in a hard voice, “you didn’t do as I told you, did you? You didn’t burn it. I saw the forest and the fields as I came up. No sign of a burn, not even a small one!”

“I can’t burn that forest,” Glenburrow snapped. “And anyway, your soil showed me that the blight can be attended to without burning. So then, how much?”

“I told you,” Sam said, furious, “that soil is for the whole of the Shire and Buckland. Not for whoever pays the most. Now you just tell me- did Mr. Browntree leave any sign that he meant to leave or has he disappeared without a trace? It’s very important.” Glenburrow stared at Sam, open mouthed. 

“He’s gone without a trace.”

Sam turned and saw that Stubbs had spoken from the hallway.

“That’s right, that’s right,” Glenburrow said, recovering a little. Sam took a breath. A cold chill had fallen on him suddenly and extinguished his anger. “Yes, he didn’t come up for breakfast one morning. Stubbs went down to his cottage and found the door open.” Sam closed his eyes.

“And his things? Naught was gone?”

“He has but very little,” Stubbs said in a quiet voice. “He may have taken some things, but there are still a few of his little possessions down there.” Sam paused, very disterbed. 

“Mr. Glenburrow, Mr. Stubbs, I think you two ought to leave this place,” he said quietly. Glenburrow stared at him. “There is some danger in all this, and I don’t think Mr. Browntree left to go stay with family in Bree. I think something foul happened to him.”

“What do you mean?” Glenburrow asked, stunned.

“I don’t know. I need to have a look around.” 

Silence fell in the room. 

“Well, Mr. Gamgee, you are quite free to go look around if you like, but you’ll not find him. He’s gone to his relatives in Bree, you mark me.”

Sam didn’t answer, but turned away without another word, going out into the hall and toward the back door.

✧◈✧

Sam stood at the top of the hill and stared down at the forest looming up from the lowlands. If it had been unsettling before it was openly malevolent now. 

“I ought to set fire to it. Burn the whole damned rotten thing to the ground,” Sam breathed. The trees rocked, swaying gently in the wind. Sam watched the forest trying to make up his mind. 

“Browntree surely just got fed up with this place. Surely he left,” Sam muttered to himself, “Went away to be with family and put this place behind him.” Sam let his gaze move to the penned up little garden, so lovingly tended. The plants hung limp now, the leaves fuzzy with mold. 

Where there had been the pleasant sound of hogs and bees before there was silence. There was no activity at the hives, instead there was a smear of filth oozing down the front of the boxes. Sam walked past them giving them a wide berth as he approached the pig house. He peered in and stilled. There were only two pigs and they lifted their snouts to eye him blankly. They were thin and haunted looking and there was something unhealthy about their faces. Sam shivered and turned away.

He walked closer to the little garden and spotted a box of tools. The lid was open and water had collected in the little box. 

“No gardener would leave his tools out like that,” Sam whispered to himself. He turned to gaze down the hill toward Browntree’s cabin, and caught sight of the distant neighbor’s hedge and woods beyond. Sam stared for a long time. 

The trees and hedge were still. Sam turned slowly back to Willowgold forest. The trees were rocking in the wind. But there was no wind. No other vegetation stirred and Sam felt nothing. In fact, the air hung still and rank and heavy. But the trees in Willowgold rocked and whispered. 

“You’ve taken him, haven’t you?” Sam growled softly, and knew in his heart he was right. Browntree was in that forest. And if that was so, then Sam could not burn it. He might go for help, but if the poor hobbit had already been in there for days, how much time did he have left? Sam thought suddenly of the raw aching thirst and hunger and the poisoned air that he’d endured in Mordor. He would not abide prolonging that for someone. No. He would have to go in and look for his fellow gardener. 


	4. The Forest

“I’m going into the forest,” Sam said as he entered the library once more. He held a hastily scrawled message in his hand, stuffed into an envelope he’d found rummaging in the hallway. “If I don’t come out by 3 o’clock then you just send your Mr. Stubbs to Standelf for help. And make sure he gets this message to Brandy Hall. And tell the messenger to make it quick. I’ve got it addressed to Frodo Baggins and Merry Brandybuck. Do you understand?”

Stubbs took the letter and frowned at Sam, tucking it into his pocket. 

“Well alright Mr. Gamgee, if that’s what you want,” Glenburrow said. 

“It’s not what I want, but if there’s any chance I can find him and bring him out then I’ll do it.”

Sam didn’t wait for a response. He was on the move once more. On his way out, he stopped in the kitchen and took a dish towel. He tied it to the lower half of his face. He knew it might not keep all the bile from that rot out of his lungs but it would help. 

He went out and walked quickly down the hill, the hairs on the back of his neck standing up, as he tried not to think about what he was doing.

_It’s alright!_ He told himself _, it’s not that big of a forest and there’s plenty of light. I can search it in no time. Oh stars, I don’t want to find him dead, but even if he is, he deserves to be found._

With that thought, Sam plunged into the shade of the forest, and went in among the trees. The forest was deathly quiet and even his small nearly silent hobbit footfalls sounded loud in his ears. 

_Most of the animals have cleared out,_ Sam thought to himself. That was why his hair was standing up, why he was so unnerved. It wasn’t right for a forest to be silent. Sam was a hobbit intune with growing living things and their rhythms. He was so deeply intune with the world of the living that finding himself suddenly in a world of cold still silence was almost more frightful than the heavy watchful presence of the forest. 

_No, it’s not a place stillness entirely,_ he told himself, _there is growth, even if it is the growth of death_. 

From a distance, Sam had thought the trees still had their leaves, but now that he was in amongst them he could see that what he’d taken for leaves was fungus and mold and long trailing growths dripping down from the branches. He’d never known anything like it. 

He turned his thoughts to mushrooms, and tried to find comfort in his knowledge of them. Yes, this was a forest of fungus and though these might be wholly inedible, there was something in them that Sam understood. Which could not be said for the rest of the forest. 

There were the growths that Sam could not place, even though he’d nearly memorized the flora books in Mr. Bilbo’s library. These grows were wet clinging things. That’s all that Sam knew, and even that knowledge filled him with dread.

_There’s so much moisture,_ he noted with dismay, _it will be hard to get a fire to take hold._

Sam didn’t dare to say that out loud to himself. He felt like the trees knew enough of his plans as it was. He didn’t want them listening to more. 

✧◈✧

Sam found that while the forest looked small from his position high on the hill, he must not have been able to see all of it. The land rolled and dipped down, and surely these valleys must have been hidden to him, for he was finding that the forest was much larger and much harder to move through than he’d counted on. He wandered and became slowly aware that he wasn’t sure of his direction anymore. 

He stumbled through the bracken in silence, for a long time. And as an hour passed and then another, Sam began to see that what he was attempting was an impossible foolish task. The forest was too large and too evil to give up it’s deadly secrets. He had been very silly to come in alone. 

_This horrible place!_ There was fear in his heart now. The forest was all the same in all directions, with a mat of branches and rot so thick that he could not see the sky, and could not even tell which direction the sun was in. All he knew was that the diffused light around him was growing dimmer. Night was coming on and he could not get out. 

✧◈✧

The light faded away for good finally and the shade deepened into darkness. Sam’s eyes adjusted and he used the tricks that Aragorn had taught him for making his way without a torch. 

He and Frodo had used those skills so often when they took to walking under cover of night. Sam closed his eyes, aching and yearning for Frodo and the evening they could be having, curled up together by the fire after a fine meal of trout. The night was growing deeper and with it a chill came. Sam shivered. He had only a thin coat. 

He went on walking. The forest floor was dipping down into boggy creek land. Sam decided to try and find the creek. If he could do that, then he could follow it out. The creek flowed into the forest. He just had to go upstream. It was a better plan than wandering in circles, which he suspected he’d been doing all afternoon and evening. 

He located the creek at last and though he was glad to have it as his guide; it stank so horribly that he loathed walking by it. There were mats and clumps of decaying material that might have been birds or squirrels. These became more numerous as he came to a wide flat area where the creek widened into a small soupy pond. There were skeletal remains scattered all around the edges of the bog. Sam choked on the fetid air and tried to move through the area quickly. He had got to a far edge and caught sight of the creek once more when his eye was drawn to a larger form on the forest floor. It didn’t look like an animal. 

Warily, Sam moved closer and had to stifle a cry at what he saw. It was Browntree. Or, what was left of him. 

His torso lay half in the water, torn and ragged gray flesh hung limp over the rotting corpse. From the torn wounds spouted soft molds and delicate stims that rose up flowering into fungal caps. Half the face was gone and here too sprouted a hideous growth of thick blooming waxy mushrooms. 

Horror and sadness overcame Sam for a moment and he paused. Mr. Browntree had suffered a very horrible death by all evidence and Sam was very sorry for it. He was about to move away, when the corpse moved. Sam stepped back, hot needles of fear pricking his skin. The face turned up and the mouth fell open. Sam stepped back again and tried to make himself run.

“Mr. Gamgee. I’m sorry,” Browntree whispered. Sam cried out in terror. An animated corpse brought to move by magic was one thing, but watching a hobbit he knew, conscious and aware engulfed in this agony was too much to be borne. He froze, heart pounding and struggled to speak. 

“What has happened to you, my friend?” Sam choked out. Browntree sunk down into the mud once more. 

“It got down in me. Made me think things not my own,” Browntrees’ corpse rasped. “It drove me whether I would go or not. It’s in the air. It draws me. Here. In this place… It has drawn you maybe. And I…”

“I will bring you out,” Sam said bravely, though he wasn’t sure how. 

“No you won’t,” Browntree whispered. “My life is at an end. I think perhaps it has already ended.”

“Are.” Sam quivered. “Are you in pain? Can I do anything?”

“Stop worrying for me, sir. I am drugged with it’s poison. I feel nothing. But you. You are in grave peril. Run for it Mr. Gamgee. If you’ve any will left. It got strong on me and it _walks_ now. It’s hungry. Run!”

Sam stepped back, held in place by terror and compassion.

“Go on!” the hobbit cried. Sam turned away and ran.

“I’m sorry!” he cried softly once more.

_It has drawn you, maybe._

Sam felt tears of fear burning in his eyes. It was like he was in the Spider’s lair once more. It was a stinking horrible trap that he’d walked into. And death was close. He could feel it. 

He had no magic light nor Elf sword now. He was only a gardener's son lost in a deadly dripping forest. 

_I may not have those wonderments,_ Sam thought as he gasped against the gut wrenching terror, running as fast as his short legs would carry him. _But I have the power that put fire into those things. I want to live. I want to go home to my husband._ Though this thought steadied him, Sam couldn’t help but wonder if it would be enough this time. 


	5. It Comes

It seemed that somehow he’d come in a circle, for the trees began to thin and Sam had a feeling he was coming back the way he’d come. 

Sure enough, it wasn’t long before he caught a glimpse of dark grassy hills beyond the trees and turned toward it, putting on speed. In another moment he was out of the choking mold and he was running on grass. Sam pulled off the dish towel and drew in deep breaths of clean air and searched the shadowy landscape for a landmark to tell him where he might be. It was such a relief to be out of the forest and under the stars that he didn’t spot the House for a moment. It was just up on the hill to his left and he wasn’t all that far from it. Without pausing, he set off, desperate to put distance between himself and the forest, and desperate to find shelter.

If Glenburrow and Stubbs had done as he told them to, then there very well might be other hobbits at the House by now. The moon told him that it was early evening, sometime around eight o’clock, which meant there was even a chance that a message had brought Frodo and Merry to the House. Sam let out a soft whimper. He loped now, heart pounding, wanting to see a group of hobbits at the House, and despite wanting to protect Frodo from this place, he couldn’t help but want to come up the hill and find him waiting there. Frodo would know what to do.

But the land around the House was empty and quiet. 

✧◈✧

Sam came up to the House and dithered for only a moment. As much as he wanted to get inside, a plan was forming in his mind. He went to the little open shed near the side of the House. He’d seen tools on his earlier trip and he was eager to gather what he could. He was either going to have to stay the night at Willowgold or try and go for Standelf. He wanted to just start walking, get as far from this place as he could- but that also felt dangerous. Maybe as dangerous as going into the forest by himself. 

_It has drawn you maybe._

Sam couldn’t stop those words from repeating themselves in his mind. That and Browntree’s reference to some walking hungry thing kept him from taking off into the night. The house might offer some shelter, but if Sam was going to stay there, he wanted the doors secured.

There was a soft sound from the house, like the thump of a door. Sam gazed up and stilled at the sound, listening. He doubted old Mr. Glenburrow would still be up, but perhaps Stubbs was, knocking around the House. That was for the better. He might get some help from Stubbs. Sam returned to his work. He wasn’t sure how he was going to convince them to bar up the doors and windows, but he would. And he would have the materials ready.

✧◈✧

Sam let himself into the House, depositing his tools in a chair in the front entrance, before walking along the dark hallways. There were no signs of stirring now, so Sam went down the familiar route to the library. He could smell the soft scent of a wood burning fire. Perhaps Glenburrow was still up after all. 

He entered the library and sure enough spotted Glenburrow on the farside of the room. Sam padded over to his chair, watching the firelight’s reflection flicker against the wooden floor. The old hobbit had fallen asleep in his chair rather than go to bed, just like old Mr. Bilbo used to do. The thought brought a flash of warmth to Sam’s heart. 

“Sir?” he called softly. Glenburrow didn’t stirr. Sam came closer. “Sir? Mr. Glenburrow?” he tried again, raising his voice a bit, but again the hobbit remained still. Sam sighed, well aware that his voice was often too soft to be heard from those suffering from deafness. His father was the same way. Sam reached out and touched the old hobbit’s hand. 

It was cold.

Sam drew back, worried, and then he saw a shape behind the old hobbit’s chair. He struggled for a moment for his mind to sort out what he was seeing. It was Stubbs, on the floor, slumped against the old hobbit’s chair. His jaw was slack and his eyes were open, staring sightlessly into the darkness. Sam stepped back, then went to the other hobbit, making himself touch his neck to check for the gentle pulse of a heart beat. But there was none and his skin was just as cold as Glenburrow’s had been. 

He was dead. Both of them were dead. 

And there in Stubb’s pocket was the envelope that Sam had addressed to Frodo and Merry. He didn’t know if Stubbs had never had any intention of sending the message, or if he had met his end before he’d had the chance to, but either way- no message had been sent to town. And no one was coming to help him. 

Something had killed them, Sam thought, his breath beginning to come in short shallow gasps. Something from the forest had come into the House and killed them. 

They were cold, and yet he’d heard a noise just a minute ago.

Something was here in the House with him. 

He’d made noise. Called out.

It must know he was here.

Sam could not remember later the details of his flight from the House, only that he’d run as fast as he could and bolted out the door, leaving it standing open behind him. He was running along the empty hills, the night sky wide and open before him. Though it felt good to be out of the House, the smell of the forest was thick around him, making his heart hammer. And he thought he could hear sounds from behind.

His legs hurt. He’d been walking for hours in the forest, and running in bursts in the last hour. He was shaking and exhausted, and though pure terror lit in him and propelled him from the House, it was many miles to Standelf, and already he could feel his body begin to fail him.

But he ran on. He would run until his legs fell out from under him. For how could he do anything else? He ached to return to Frodo. He could not abide the thought of Frodo’s grief if he were to die. He would get away from this. He would return to the hobbit he loved. After all that he’d been though, he would not let this-

There were torches. 

They were only small pricks of light at the top of the hill on the path before him, but Sam recognized them all the same. He cried out and forced himself on. His lungs ached from the strain and from breathing that stinking air, and he was dizzy, but Sam had gotten close enough now to make out a few faces in the crowd holding the torches. Frodo was there.

After that there was no pain or weariness that could hold him back. He was up the hill and throwing his arms tight around Frodo. Frodo looked so relieved and in an instant they fell into a warm heady kiss. Frodo cupped his cheek with one hand and held him tight with his other arm as they kissed and Sam felt near to tears. 

He broke away, urgency suddenly taking him.

“We must all get back to town! We’re in great danger here,” Sam cried. There was a stunned pause.

“Right! Back to Standelf!” Merry’s voice rose over them. Sam turned to see him standing near. Their eyes met. “What of those at Willowgold?”

“None are left alive at Willowgold,” Sam said. Merry’s face grew very grim and he turned away, leading the group back on the path toward the town. Frodo kept an arm around him the whole way back.

“How have you all come?” Sam asked, so weary that he had to blink to not see double. “My message never got through.”

“We were worried,” Frodo murmured to him. Sam felt the prick of tears and hugged tight to Frodo.

✧◈✧

Sam sat before the fire, in the small warm common room at the Golden Root, staring into the brown depths of a shot of whiskey before him. It was his second. He’d downed the first when he’d taken his seat to begin his tale. Merry had quickly brought him another. Frodo was there at his side, and Merry on the other, and around them crowded the Buckland home guard captains, as well as the proprietor of the Golden Root. He’d cleared everyone else out for Sam’s comfort.

Slowly, Sam told them all that had happened at Willowgold. 

✧◈✧

Sam made sure to bring a pail of steaming water to their room and washed himself thoroughly. Frodo did the same, reasoning that he’d been in close contact with Sam, and if there were clinging spore on him, then they very well could have been passed on during their embraces. 

After they were washed and settled into bed, with the lantern out, silence fell around then as they tried to catch a few hours of sleep. Sam shifted in the bed and tried not to shiver. The blankets were threadbare and the mattress very thin, but that wasn’t what kept him wakeful. He shifted closer to Frodo and Frodo turned to nestle against him. 

“Put your arm ‘round me?” Sam asked in a whisper. He saw Frodo blink in the moonlight, and then his arm settled over Sam’s side. “Thank you,” Sam breathed, “keep me from wandering.”

“You think you might wander?” Frodo whispered back. For a moment Sam trembled.

“It’s. Ah. I can’t stop thinking of what poor Mr. Browntree said. I _t’s in the air. It gets into you, draws you._ He thought it might have drawn me…” Sam heard his breath hitch.

“You had the strength to walk out of that place. If you were so affected, then I don’t think you would have been able to,” Frodo whispered.

“Maybe,” Sam admitted softly. “But I was in that forest for many hours. Breathing that foulness.” He shivered. He knew he was foolish for having gone into the forest, but something about it struck him as too foolish even for him. He should have known better, and his reasons- while they’d sounded good at the time- didn’t seem quite so good now. 

_It drew me,_ Sam thought. _Got me away from the House. Didn’t want a strong hobbit who was likely to fight back when it went in there for the kill. No, it wanted me alone and lost and scared in its own territory when it dealt with me._

Frodo stroked his cheek, bringing him out of dark thoughts. 

“Then, I will stay up and keep watch on you,” Frodo said softly. Sam turned his face up to look at him. “A sleepless night won’t hurt me! Go on, love. Go to sleep. You need it more than I.”

The trembling returned, but this time it was love and gratitude at the root of what he was feeling. With a soft sigh, Sam pressed his face to Frodo’s neck, and closed his eyes. 

He was safe, and Frodo would make sure that he stayed safe.

✧◈✧

When Sam woke he was a little scandalized to find that it was past ten o’clock. Frodo only brushed back his curls with his fingers and told him that he’d needed the rest and that he was glad to see Sam take it. They went down to breakfast in the common room and found Merry in among a group of Buckland home guard members. Merry caught sight of them and came to their table. 

“Good morning, how did you two fair last night?” he asked.

“As well as we could,” Frodo said. Merry nodded.

“Well, I’m just back from Willowgold. Took a company out there this morning at first light.”

Frodo and Sam sat up, catching their breaths. 

“And?” Frodo asked quietly.

“We aimed to make a start at the burning. A controlled type of thing, clear that horrible forest out so that we could fell what doesn’t burn, but, you’ll never guess, as soon as there was a spark, the blaze took over. It’s all of it burning.”

“I thought it would be too wet,” Sam said quietly.

“We thought so too. Can’t understand it.”

“Hm,” Sam pondered, “I can’t say as I know, but if I had to guess, I’d say that all the trees were dead and dried out. It all seemed wet and slimy because of the mold and fungus on every inch of it. But those can dry out quick enough if there’s enough heat and air suddenly moving in there.” He paused. “Well. Good. I’m glad to hear of it all going like that. It’s a pity about Mr. Browntree. But maybe what’s left of him will be found. Bones at least, maybe. And he can have a proper burial.” He paused again, adding, “And the House?”

“Oh. We went in, found Glenburrow and Stubbs. Something had been at work on them since you saw them, I think, they were a bit in the way of poor Mr. Browntree, or in the early stages perhaps,” Merry said softly. “But, we got what was left of them out of that place. They’re being buried right away. It’s not decent to have them out where people can see that.” He sighed, “As for the House, it’s also burning as we speak.”

“Burning?” Frodo gasped.

“I don’t know who started it, but one of the hobbits of the guard. Probably one of the fellows who went with me into the House. I can’t say I blame him. It’s a place of horror and the world is better off if it is blasted from the hill. There will be trouble from the family though.”

“I’m glad it’s gone,” Sam whispered. “The thing that Mr. Browntree spoke of, it might have been hiding in the House. It’s good that the House is burning.” Merry looked uneasy.

“We searched it, and the grounds. We never came on a creature. Do you suppose it could have been a kind of poisoning rather that killed them? After all, you never saw a creature either.”

“But Mr. Browntree said it could _walk_ ,” Sam said in a hushed voice. Merry didn’t argue, only looked troubled.

“Perhaps the creature returned to the forest,” Frodo said softly. “I hope so. I don’t like the idea of it being in the House with you, Merry. And if it’s gone back to the forest, it will soon burn with the rest of the decay.”

“No, It wasn’t just poison,” Sam murmured, lost in memory, “couldn’t be just that. I felt. It. It was a presence with an evil mind behind it.” He looked up at Frodo. “It felt like being in the Spider’s tunnel. Knowing something with a cunning mind was aiming to draw you into a trap. It was just like that.”

“You slipped out, clever hobbit,” Frodo said gently. Sam nodded, quiet, and sipped his coffee. 

“I slipped out. But I’m very sorry for poor Mr. Browntree, and Mr. Glenburrow, and Mr. Stubbs. It’s a terrible thing happened to them, and I wish I’d have been able to keep that fate off them. But. At least the whole place is going up in fire.”

He felt Frodo’s hand on his back, rubbing in soothing circles. Sam looked up at Merry.

“They’re not expecting me to go back there, are they? Show them where it all happened? Shall I have to make any statement to your Shirrifs and Captains?”

“No,” Merry said gently, “I’ve taken care of all that.”

“Bless you, Merry,” Frodo murmured and turned, touching Sam’s cheek tenderly. “I’d like to take my husband home, now. If he’s ready?” Sam melted.

“Please do,” Sam managed. Merry smiled at them.

“I’ll see to it,” he said, and rose, going off. Sam had meant to call out thanks to him, but he was caught in Frodo’s gaze. They sat quietly together for a long while. 

They were going to leave this place behind in just a little while, and go home. And for that, Sam felt as though he were the luckiest hobbit in all the world. 


End file.
